A Love Remembered
by Pelageya
Summary: Hermione is injured during her work as an Untouchable in the Dept. of Mysteries. Ginny must nurse her back to health. Takes place a few years after the end of the War. Ginny/Hermione Femmeslash.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: Untouchable**

**A/N: This is a re-write of a story that I started posting a week or so ago. Someone was nice enough the point out to me that the way I was writing the story before (as a series of "drabbles," to use the term loosely) wasn't really working. So I'm re-posting this as a full-length fiction. Future chapters should be considerably longer than this one, which is a prologue. Enjoy, and please review! **

Hermione stares at the object before her. It is so small and yet so beautifully alive with power.

She reaches out a trembling hand. The moment her fingers brush the object, a sharp pain shoots up her arm. She ignores it. She is prepared to do anything to hold this forbidden power in her palm for just a moment.

Her fingers close around the object. The pain increases, until it feels like liquid fire is racing up her arm. As Hermione gazes down at the small, silvery thing in her hand, the pain begins to spread to the rest of her body. She doesn't notice until it is too late.

Within seconds Hermione is engulfed in agony. She screams, but the sound doesn't reach her ears, which are filled with a dreadful ringing. She sinks to her knees.

Through half-opened eyes Hermione sees the Other World disappearing, replaced with the cold white marble of the Department of Mysteries. They have called her back.

As she sinks into unconsciousness, Hermione realizes that she is still holding the object. Slowly, agonizingly, she slips her hand inside her robes and deposits it there, safely hidden in an inside pocket.

And then Hermione gives in to the dark.

**OoOoO**

Hermione Weasley lies on a soft white bed, propped against thick white pillows and surrounded on all sides by white walls. Next to her bed is a wooden chair, which is currently occupied by a small, pale man in white robes.

"It is not possible to transfer you to St. Mungo's at this time, Mrs. Weasley. I'm sure you understand."

The Head of the Department of Mysteries speaks in a soft, detached voice. As he speaks his eyes never leave Hermione's face. The irises are a strange, inhuman white, and Hermione finds it difficult to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Yes, sir. I understand," Hermione whispers.

"Good. Now, one of our specially trained Untouchable Mediwizards will be assigned to check in on you periodically. However, he or she will not be able to stay with you at all times."

"That's alright," Hermione says, her voice hoarse. "I'm sure I'll manage."

"No, Mrs. Weasley, I don't think you will," he says, raising his eyebrows slightly. "You will need someone trustworthy, a close family member or friend, to stay by your side for the next few months. I am told that your husband is currently out of the country on a mission with the Auror department."

"That's right."

"As is your close friend Mr. Potter, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"Apart from Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, is there anyone that you can trust to take care of you? Someone who has your confidence? A skilled witch or wizard capable of managing a serious magical illness?"

_Ginny_, Hermione thinks. _Ginny could take care of me_. She hesitates before saying her sister-in-law's name out loud. For the past few years, ever since the end of the War, there has been a steadily growing level of tension between the two women. Hermione is unsure as to whether Ginny would even agree to take care of her, and if she did, then—But Hermione suddenly remembers the small, silver object tucked safely inside her robes. Even if the worst were to happen, there is always that.

"Ginny," Hermione says at last, reassured by the memory of the thing she has stolen. "Ginny Potter. Harry Potter's wife."

"Very good," the Head says coolly. "I will have some of my subordinates do a background check on Mrs. Potter. If she is approved, then you may ask her to serve as your caretaker."

"Thank—thank you," Hermione says. She can feel herself starting to slip away. The last things she sees before she drifts into unconsciousness are the Head's cold, white eyes, staring down at her with an oddly knowing look.

_He knows. He knows about the kiss_, is Hermione last, inexplicable thought before she gives in to the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One: Tension**

Hermione sits on the couch in the Potters' living room, wrapped in two thick blankets and clutching a mug of tea. She likes the room. It is cozy without being cramped, filled with neat, comfortable furniture and warm neutral colors. A vase of fresh wildflowers sits on the coffee table before her, next to a pile of old quidditch magazines and a Do-It-Yourself broomcare kit. Hermione notices that the top-most quidditch magazine bears a photograph of Ginny, with the caption "Harpies Catcher Finishes Season Strong" emblazoned underneath.

"Hermione."

Hermione looks up reluctantly. Ginny, who is seated in one of the armchairs across from her, is staring at her with an indecipherable look in her brown eyes. Hermione thinks that she sees worry there, and fear, and possibly even a hint of anger. She sighs.

"Ginny, I really can't give you any more details," Hermione says, her voice hoarse. "I've told you everything about my illness that I possibly can."

And she has. Hermione has told Ginny everything she is allowed to tell: that she has sustained a Dark injury during her work as an Untouchable, and that the injury is cursed, slowly poisoning the rest of her body. To tell Ginny anything beyond that would be to break the oaths Hermione took when she was initiated into the Department of Mysteries.

"You're running a temperature of a hundred and one," Ginny says. "You can barely talk and you can't stand up for more than a minute without help. And your boss told me that your illness will get worse before it gets better. I think that I'm justified in being worried about you, and in wanting to know exactly what kind of Dark magic I'm dealing with here."

Hermione just shakes her head. Ginny looks away in frustration.

"You would have told me, once," Ginny says suddenly, turning back to meet Hermione's gaze with an intentness that Hermione finds unnerving.

"What do you mean?" Hermione whispers.

"You know what I mean," Ginny says. "You would have told me…before. Back when we were close."

Hermione understands what Ginny does not want to say out loud. _Before the kiss_, she thinks. _Back when we were just friends and things between us were simple_.

Hermione shakes her head. "I wouldn't have then, either," she says.

"You would," Ginny says simply, her voice sure.

Hermione opens her mouth to protest, only to find that she has forgotten what she was going to say. A wave of dizziness sweeps over her and she shivers, dropping the tea cup. The porcelain cup smashes to pieces on the floor, and droplets of pale bronze tea trickle over the carpet.

"Hermione!" Ginny cries, hurrying around the coffee table to seize hold of her friend. Hermione sighs, leaning against Ginny, and suddenly feels very tired.

"Come on," Ginny says softly. She helps Hermione to her feet. The blankets start to slip from the older girl's shoulders, but Ginny grabs them and lifts them back up. She leads Hermione out of the living room and down the hall, towards the master bedroom at the back of the house.

Ginny helps Hermione into the bed that she normally shares with Harry. After a moment of hesitation, the younger girl climbs in next to her friend. They lay like that for a few moments, looking at each other, until Hermione drifts off to sleep.

**A/N: Another short chapter. Oh well. Hopefully I'll do better with the next one. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two: Terms of Endearment **

Hermione wakes up the next morning to the feeling of warm sunlight caressing her face and playing across her closed eyelids. She guesses that it is around nine o'clock and that Ginny has opened the curtains, allowing the rays of the newborn sun to stream into the little room.

Slowly Hermione opens her eyes, wincing slightly as the white light assaults her sensitive retinas. She feels marginally better than she did the night before, despite a vague sense of nausea and a slight headache.

"You're awake!"

Hermione looks up at the sound of Ginny's soft voice. Her sister-in-law is standing in the doorway, balancing a breakfast tray on one hand and holding a vase of wildflowers in the other. She is still wearing her bedclothes—a long, thin white nightgown edged with lace—and her small feet are bare despite the cold floor.

"How are you feeling?" Ginny asks, moving to stand next to the bed. She sets the vase of flowers down on the bedside table. Hermione looks at the flowers and smiles.

"I'm much better," Hermione says. She grimaces when she notices how weak her voice sounds. Ginny looks at her doubtfully.

"You don't sound much better than you did last night," the younger woman says. "Are you up for some breakfast?"

Hermione examines the contents of the tray dubiously. Ginny has prepared all of her favorite foods—bacon, waffles, and toasted muffins with butter—but none of it looks particularly appealing at the moment.

"I'm not really hungry," Hermione says.

"Well, you've got to eat something," Ginny says, "even if it's just one muffin. Can you sit up on your own or do you need help?"

"I've got it," Hermione says. She gingerly raises herself to a seated position, propping her back against the headboard. Ginny sets the tray down on Hermione's lap.

"Can I—?" Ginny gestures awkwardly at the empty space on the other side of the bed.

"Of course."

As Ginny settles herself into a seated position next to Hermione, the older woman picks up a muffin. She holds it loosely in her fingers, making no attempt to bring it to her mouth.

"Hermione, you've got to eat," Ginny says, her voice soft.

"I'm sorry, Gin, I can't. Not now," Hermione says, dropping the muffin back onto the plate.

She realizes what she has said a split second after she says it. _Gin_—her old nickname for Ginny. A name that she hasn't used in years.

Hermione turns to look at Ginny, who is staring at her with wide eyes. The young woman's lips are parted slightly, her breathing ragged.

"What did you call me?" Ginny whispers.

"G—Gin. Like I've always called you," Hermione says. Ginny shakes her head.

"You haven't called me that in years."

"Well, I should have," Hermione says. "I like that name. It suits you."

"That word—it isn't just a nickname," Ginny says. Her voice is shaky. "It's a term of endearment. Only the people who are closest to me call me that."

"Are you saying we're not close?" Hermione says, hurt.

"Not since the war ended," Ginny replies. "Not since—you know. That day."

Hermione sighs. She leans her head back against the headboard and closes her eyes. She is too tired and too sick to talk about _that day_.

After a moment, Hermione feels the weight on the bed shift as Ginny gets up.

"I'll leave you to your breakfast," Ginny says. "Please try to eat something."

Hermione keeps her eyes closed until she hears the bedroom door swing shut. Once she is sure that Ginny has gone, Hermione allows her eyelids to flutter open. She moves the tray off of her lap and sets it on the recently vacated spot next to her. She then moves her body back into a lying position, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

"Oh Gin," she breathes, shutting her eyes once more. "I'm so sorry, my sweet, sweet Gin."

**A/N: I think that I'm just incapable of writing a long chapter. Oh well. Next chapter should be up later tonight or sometime tomorrow morning—questions will be answered and old feelings will be revisited. Please review! **


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